


A Certain Romance

by hoetaku97



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character Study, M/M, Miya Atsumu-centric, Near Death Experiences, POV Miya Atsumu, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, sunaosa little shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoetaku97/pseuds/hoetaku97
Summary: On Atsumu Miya’s right wrist, there is a mark in the shape of a handprint. The mark has been with him since the day he was born, and has taunted him every day since for 23 years.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 679
Collections: Haikyuu, SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination





	A Certain Romance

**Author's Note:**

> first run at atsumu pov, hopefully not too messy

On Atsumu Miya’s right wrist, there is a mark in the shape of a handprint. The mark has been with him since the day he was born, and has taunted him every day since for 23 years. Atsumu has been told more times than he cares to count about the significance of soulmates and the birthmark and how it signifies the first place your soulmate will touch you. Atsumu decided long ago that he could not give a shit less about his soulmate, and that it’s completely ridiculous to walk around believing that anyone could love him in all of his spiteful, mean, egotistical glory just because fate or God or something told them to. It’s not realistic. It’s total horse shit, made up by some jackass looking to spare lonely and sad people some grief.

While Atsumu Miya may be lonely and sad, he’s also not desperate enough to buy into that...yet.

Somehow, the whole situation has been made worse by the fact that Osamu already has his soulmate. When the twins were only 17, Rintarou Suna slammed into Osamu (due to being completely engrossed in a twitter thread about the zodiac signs as different cheeses), sending them both toppling over, all arms and legs, and single-handedly _ruined_ Atsumu’s life. From the moment Osamu lifted his shirt to reveal a pink hand print on his chest where Suna’s hand had fallen at some point while bracing for the collision, Atsumu has been constantly reminded of the fact that he is bitter, single, and left even more alone, due to his womb-mates committed partnership. Now, in a tag team spectacular, the two take turns coming off the metaphorical top rope, and grinding his tender insecurities under the verbal equivalent of The People’s Elbow.

Atsumu zips his hoodie and toes his sneakers on, stepping out into the frigid winter air. He absolutely despises the cold, and feels himself wilt with each change of the seasons. Atsumu runs hot, physically and emotionally: ready to flare up and charr everything in his path at the slightest provocation. He feels everything so deeply, his emotions so strong and blistering as they pulse through his veins, that he thinks he could probably burn up with it. Atsumu has been told for years that he is “too much,” but this is not news to him. He crumbles under the weight of his own emotions, caught in the eye of the storm with no way out, swept away by his childish fits and mood swings. He could never expect anyone else to sympathize, much less try to understand. It is much easier to write him off as difficult and volatile and move on than it would be to empathize with him.

Everything is important to Atsumu.

He catches himself fixating on things that he knows are ridiculous and trivial, but he feels everything so strongly that it is simply par for the course. It’s embarrassing and ugly, and one of the main reasons why he is so inherently unlikable. The good news is that Atsumu doesn’t have any particular desire to be likable; he only needs to be respected by his team and feared by the other side of the net.

Atsumu wonders if his soulmate would be disappointed to be paired with someone as turbulent as he is. He thinks they would be.

Atsumu arrives in front of a modern, all-too-familiar storefront and slings open the door to Onigiri Miya with more force than he intended, much to Osamu’s dismay.

“If ya break my door, I break you!” Osamu shouts from the kitchen.

The restaurant isn’t actually open yet, but Osamu knows Atsumu well enough to know he likes to stop by an hour and a half before opening, because he doesn’t like how crowded it can get on Fridays for lunch, so he unlocks the door a little early. Atsumu would rather eat his fist than say it out loud, but he’s grateful.

Walking further into the restaurant, Atsumu spies Suna at the counter and audibly sighs.

Suna turns to looks at him, scrunching his nose in distaste. “Oh, it’s you. I thought something smelled.”

“Nice to see ya too, Sunarin.”

“That nickname gets more disgusting every time you use it.”

“Have ya considered that maybe Atsumu is just disgustin’?” Osamu emerges from the depths of the kitchen, joining them in front of the counter.

“Is that anyway to talk to yer favorite twin?” Atsumu taunts.

“Doesn’t count if it’s by default.” Osamu deadpans, dropping two plates of onigiri in front of them, giving Suna a peck on the cheek.

Atsumu pulls a face. “Ew. Right in front of my onigiri.”

“Not our fault you’re a bitter old maid.” Suna takes a bite of his onigiri, ignoring Atsumu’s indignant squawking.

“I’M 23 YEARS OLD, NOT 40! I AM NOT A BITTER OLD MAID,” Atsumu screams in Suna’s face. “I just haven’t met the right person yet. That’s all.” Atsumu subconsciously glances down at his right wrist, remembering his thoughts from earlier and suddenly feeling self conscious. _If I met my soulmate tomorrow, would they be disappointed?_

“Alright, alright, we get it. Stop yellin’, this is a place of business. Besides, you have yer whole life ahead of ya to annoy yer soulmate. No need to rush it.” Osamu busies himself with wiping a spot on the counter.

“Atsumu’s soulmate is definitely a person deserving of our pity.” Suna says, without looking up from his phone.

Ouch.

Suna, picking up on Atsumu’s uncharacteristic silence, clears his throat. “Any plans today? Besides bothering us, I mean.”

“Hmmm, I guess I was gonna run a couple of errands.” Atsumu stands, lifting his arms over his head in a stretch. “I’ll head out I guess. See you guys later.”

“If there is any mercy left in this cruel world, later is very far off.” Suna says, turning his attention back to his phone.

“Fuck you too, Sunarin!” Atsumu calls on his way out the door.

Back on the sidewalk, snow is beginning to gather. It coats everything in a blanket of white, and flecks catch in Atsumu’s wavy locks.

He resents the bitter chill.

He considers soulmates, and considers the chill of an empty bed. He considers his defects, considers Osamu and Suna’s easy chemistry. Atsumu can’t imagine enjoying that level of domesticity with anyone. Atsumu wracks his brain, trying to remember anyone who wasn’t his blood relative or a member of his high school volleyball team who has liked him enough to stick around.... and draws a blank. Atsumu’s life, romantic and otherwise, has always been a revolving door; one in, another one out, always rotating. He doesn’t have the kind of personality that makes people want to stay. He can’t think of a single romantic relationship he has had that has gone any further than friends with benefits, because he’s pretty enough for one night, but that’s as far as it goes.

Atsumu pops in his ear buds, deciding that he has had enough of thinking for the day, remembering that this is exactly why he avoids it when at all possible. He turns up the volume loud enough to drown out his own internal monologue, A Certain Romance by The Arctic Monkeys spilling out of the tiny speakers, loud enough to rattle his brain. He trudges through the snow to his favorite coffee shop, trailing footprints behind him as he goes. The day is still young, the afternoon sun washing everything in warm light. It burns Atsumu’s eyes, forcing him to squint as he approaches his favorite coffee shop. Coffee hadn’t originally been part of his plans, but Atsumu is the kind of person who believes he needs an iced coffee every time he leaves his home.

Pulling open the door to the shop, flooded with natural light and queued patrons, Atsumu takes his place in line. As he rocks back and forth on his heels, his eyes are drawn to a head full of curly black hair in the corner booth. Staring is rude, he knows, but he can’t draw his eyes away from the two moles resting above a sharp, perfectly arched brow. The curly haired man has not noticed Atsumu’s intense stare, it seems, as he never pulls his eyes away from the book in his hands. Atsumu squints to see the title, recognizing it as Pride and Prejudice. Atsumu huffs a laugh under his breath, realizing the man is either a romantic or an intellectual; he hopes it’s the former. He flips the page with long, slender fingers, completely engrossed. Even with half of his face obscured by a medical grade face mask, Atsumu can tell he is handsome. He is struck with the sudden thought that he wants to see him in his entirety, to fully take in the image of this stranger who has no idea he is alive.

He snaps back to reality as the barista calls for next in line.

Back out in the icy cold outside of the shop, now with iced caramel macchiato in hand, Atsumu is still plagued by thoughts of the stranger. He heads in the direction of the market a few blocks away, bathing in the relief that comes with the warmth of the sun. His phone begins buzzing nonstop from its resting place in his pocket. He fiddles with the device, blowing up with texts in his groupchat with Osamu and Suna about something that happened with Aran and Kita. Reaching the crosswalk, he places one foot into the street, before coming to the alarming realization that the crosswalk sign was NOT lit, coming face to face with oncoming traffic. For just a moment, his life flashes before his eyes, before a hand wraps around his wrist, snatching him back onto the sidewalk.

The first thing Atsumu realizes is that he almost died. Like, actually almost died.

The second thing he realizes is that there is a hand wrapped around his right wrist, directly above his mark.

“Are you seriously so inattentive, or just suicidal?” Atsumu looks up from the iron grip the pale hand has on his wrist to meet stormy black eyes, raging with fury. “Get your head out of your ass and watch where you’re going next time. You’re lucky I wasn’t a second later.”

The curly dark-haired man withdraws his hand, pulling out pocket hand sanitizer, squeezing a dime sized drop into his palm, and furiously rubbing his hands together.

Atsumu, still in shock, finally regains his ability to speak. “Holy shit. I almost died.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“You... you....” Atsumu is sputtering dumbly now, unable to form words because he almost died and holy shit this man grabbed his mark.

“This is the part where a normal person might say thank you, but I can see you’re a lost cause.” He turns on his heel to go. “I’m done here. Try to actually watch where you’re walking instead of your phone.”

Atsumu watches receding figure for a moment before coming back to his senses. He breaks into a run, chasing the tall stranger down the sidewalk. “HEY! WAIT! YOU WITH THE MOLES! GET BACK HERE!” Catching up, he grabs the man’s left shoulder to stop him, and the curly-haired man freezes in place.

Turning slowly, the man’s expression has completely changed from earlier. He appears struck, eyes wide, mouth stretched into a thin, tight line, and his face as white as a sheet. He slowly reaches a hand up to touch his shoulder, where Atsumu’s hand had just been. “You.”

Atsumu rolls up his right sleeve, revealing the pink mark wrapping his wrist. “Me,” Atsumu says quietly, a soft smile working its way across his face.

Atsumu considers soulmates, and he considers timing. He considers the fact that he has been waiting his whole life for this beautiful, prickly asshole. He considers that maybe, being a big fat jerk is okay, as long as there is a too-blunt jerk looking for you, too.


End file.
